Let the anger flow

I fucking hate this life. I suck at being a friend to the healthy and happy. Because I have nothing to offer to others. All of my existence is focused on my recovery and staying away from the darkness. So all I have to give is hope and bullshit support. I am nothing more compelling as a friend.

What else is there to give as a friend? To all those who are mostly fine with life, or at least stay away from the existential questions of life but for a few moments here and there, I wish I knew how to befriend you. Your normality is enviable. I wish I had a sense of identity, a sense of continuity of my life.

I don't want to be a well of windows, ever drifting through realities, always grasping for my own, which, while in sight, is never anchored. I try so deeply to have an island of my own that's worth visiting. But my island is smothered in hope-phrases, trap pits, and waterfalls of sadness. To let you see my world is to see a life ready for death. Patiently completing her bucket list so she can tell everyone "See! I lived my fucking life, so let me die, please!"

My whole life is a fucking lie. My entire life was a game of pretend. I was nothing of myself. And so, as soon as I knew I was going to break off that path and attempt for authenticity, I had my bucket list.

I hope I fucking end it once I finish it. I hope I don't waver. It would break my heart.